


All the days of my life, I'd rather be with you

by DancingLassie



Series: Into the Jaskierverse [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, But very overprotective, Dimension Travel, Genius loci (Rivers of London), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier has a loving family, Jaskier is a river god, Jaskier runs into an alternate Ciri and Geralt, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Protective Family, Rivers Run AU, genii locorum, he is very confused, lots of river gods, universe hopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26235301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingLassie/pseuds/DancingLassie
Summary: Jaskier is very confused when his brother, Trava, declares that Geralt has been spotted near the Pankratz, Jaskier's own river.  Especially as he has a reliable report claiming Geralt has been seen much further north.A quick check reveals that Trava seems to be telling the truth.  Geralt is near the Pankratz, and he seems to have picked up a young woman to replace Jaskier as his travelling companion.Well... Jaskier definitely has something to say about that!Or, an alternate version of Geralt and Ciri, who have so carelessly lost their own Jaskier, jump from one universe to the next in an attempt to find their wayward bard.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Into the Jaskierverse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895545
Comments: 39
Kudos: 773





	All the days of my life, I'd rather be with you

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution for 'Into the Jaskierverse'. A massive project that's brought together a ton of excellent writers as they all explore what happens when a version of Ciri and Geralt land in their own AUs in search of their missing bard.
> 
> For my Rivers Run readers, this story takes place during chapter 7. Geralt now knows that Jaskier is a River god, but they've not yet been up that dreaded mountain!
> 
> A huge thanks to my wonderful beta, [Willowherb!](https://willowherbgardens.tumblr.com/)

According to the message Duppa just had delivered to him, Geralt has been camping near her banks for the past three days. Which is why Jaskier is horribly confused when Trava comes bursting into his room at Mama’s to tell him that the witcher is currently near Jaskier’s own river.

Geralt can’t have travelled south so fast! And he knows now how Jaskier feels about  _ his _ river. He knows Jaskier avoids that particular watercourse like the plague, so why would the witcher be there now? He  _ knows  _ this is the time of year Jaskier seeks him out again. Jaskier  _ always  _ comes to find him after the Beltane party at Mama’s (and Ciri’s belated birthday celebrations, but the witcher doesn’t need to know that).

He’s feeling rather put out. For all that Geralt tries to come across as blunt and aloof, the witcher is usually a touch more empathetic than this.

Reluctantly, Jaskier reaches out his mind towards his river, searching carefully along the banks himself. Sure enough, there is Geralt, just south of Faerlee, and heading downstream. There’s a young woman with him and Jaskier bristles internally at the passing thought that Geralt might have found another travel companion in his absence. 

Well, time for Jaskier to put an end to that notion. If this interloper thinks she can replace him at Geralt’s side, then she’d better be prepared for a long dip in a cold river.

He nods his thanks to Trava and heads towards the door.

“Hold your horses!” Trava grabs his arm.

“You aren’t the only one who wants to see the witcher. He still owes me a drink.”

Jaskier scowls. He hates it when his brother decides to join him after Beltane. He always monopolises Geralt’s attention and it seems that Jaskier already has one other person to contend with, without his big brother butting in as well.

“You can get it some other time,” he tries, but to no avail. Trava strides ahead of him, out onto the streets of Cintra, and dives in the Yaruga. The idiot hasn’t even packed any clothes. 

Jaskier, his own belongings carefully stowed in his backpack and his lute strung over his shoulder, dives in after his brother, following him as they race upstream. 

The sounds of fighting greet them.

Aerdin and Rivia have been encroaching onto each other’s territory again and border raids are becoming more frequent, and of course the Pankratz river lies right on that border. 

It appears his poor witcher has been ambushed by a gang of mercenaries, no doubt hoping for work given the high tensions in the area.

He and Trava both scramble out of the water downstream, idly watching as the two figures before them take down the unkempt band of hired killers. A spark of jealousy ignites in Jaskier’s breast while he watches the young woman effortlessly parry an oncoming thrust as she sidesteps and pins her enemy’s blade to the ground. 

Jaskier knows he’s no prodigy with a sword; this doesn’t normally bother him (after all he has other talents), but he thinks he sees a spark of approval in Geralt’s eyes when he looks at the young woman. 

Well, that’s quite enough of that. It’s not like Jaskier is completely useless in a fight.

He sweeps his arms up in a dramatic gesture, ignoring Trava’s snort next to him, and a huge wave of water rises from the river before surging down on the majority of the mercenaries. And it’s  _ such  _ a shame that he wasn’t able to avoid the young woman.

Everyone stops fighting, looking round wildly for the source of the deluge.

Jaskier mockingly waves from where he and his brother are standing, water once again threatening to crash down on the miscreants. “Geralt,” he beams. “So nice to see you after all this time. Are these fine gentlemen friends of yours?” 

The brigands get the message and turn to flee. Jaskier can’t help but speed them on their way and sends the water after them, snapping at their heels and flowing down the back of their necks until they’re out of sight, squealing from the cold.

Jaskier turns gleefully to Geralt who is gaping at him in disbelief.

“Jaskier!” he exclaims. “What was that?”

The River god blinks. This isn’t the first time he’s used that trick in front of Geralt. The witcher had seemed much more appreciative last time.

“What do you mean?” he asks, baffled. On the ground, drenched through, the young woman groans and pushes her wet hair out of her face. There is something strangely familiar about her. He’s struggling to put his finger on it.

He squints at her, trying to work it out.

Her hair is pale, flaxen he would say if asked to describe it. Green eyes blink up at him, and despite the scar that bisects her cheek just below one eye, the shape of those eyes and that face is familiar.

She looks very much like Princess Pavetta, Jaskier decides, except there are subtle differences. Actually, she looks rather like Calanthe. He’d just been thinking the other day, when he’d spirited Ciri out the palace and into the market for sweets, that the young princess was beginning to look more and more like her grandmother with every passing year.

He splutters in disbelief.

“Ciri?” he asks, completely incredulous.

“Wrong Jaskier,” the young woman,  _ Ciri _ , moans from the ground.

_ What? _

He turns to Geralt, looking for answers, but the witcher has his head in his hands and is groaning.

Jaskier frowns.

This witcher looks a lot like Geralt, but some things are off. A scar here and there, not quite in the right place and, though it’s very hard to tell with witchers (what with them aging so slowly), he looks older than he should.

“You’re not my Geralt,” he decides. Next to him Trava hums in agreement, eyes narrowed at the interlopers.

The young woman, whom Jaskier is ninety percent sure is an alternate older version of his young charge, clambers to her feet, shivering, as water continues to drip off her.

Fuck. Jaskier is feeling guilty now.

Right, he decides. They can sort things out when Ciri isn’t freezing to death.

“There’s a shepherd’s hut ten minutes’ walk upstream,” he announces, having done a quick mental sweep of the nearby banks. No one moves.

“I didn’t announce that for the good of my health,” he snaps. “Get going. There’s no point standing around in the cold. We can just as easily have a discussion in the warmth as we can freezing our boll- toes off,” he quickly amends. He knows this adult version of Ciri has probably heard worse, but it still feels wrong to swear in front of her when she’s only ten in his mind.

Trava bursts out laughing and claps him on the shoulder. “Only you could end up in this mess,” he chuckles and starts heading north, using his long legs to stride ahead.

“Fuck you!” Jaskier shouts after him, hurrying to keep up.

* * *

Ciri is not sure what to make of this new Jaskier. He’s different both from her own and from the witcher, Julian, she’d met in Temaria in the previous universe. Fewer clothes, for one thing. But still, there’s something much more innocent about this version of Jaskier. And that’s just one of the differences! 

For one thing, he fusses over her like a concerned parent. He orders the tall auburn-haired man to get the fire going and then rifles in his bag for dry clothes. He hands them to her, shooing her closer to the fire to get changed, while pointedly turning his back.

By the time she’s peeled out of her sopping wet clothes and into what has to be Jaskier’s shirt and trousers, the bard has also dressed and is brandishing a blanket at her.

“I’m fine,” she insists. 

“You got soaked,” Jaskier complains. “You need to get warm.”

“Calm down, Buttercup,” the tall stranger she hasn’t yet got a name for grins with amusement. “She’ll be fine. She’s dry and the fire’s going. Let’s sit and figure out how your witcher, who is not your witcher, and your little princess, who last I checked was a lot smaller and under the beady eyes of her grandmother, got here.”

Ciri’s heart constricts. Her grandmother? She’s still alive in this universe?

She opens her mouth to ask, but Geralt gets in first.

“Buttercup?” Ciri thinks she detects a hint of jealousy in his voice. This may not be  _ their _ Jaskier, but the witcher doesn’t seem to like how familiar the still-naked man is with the bard (though Ciri had definitely caught him appreciating the naked Jaskier on the way to the hut). “Who the hell are you?”

The man clutches a hand over his heart in mock betrayal. “I’m hurt! Have we never met in your world? I’m Trava, the best drinking buddy your heart could desire. And just for that, when I finally meet up with the  _ real  _ you, I’m going to make him buy me two drinks instead of one.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and pulls some rickety wooden chairs closer to the fire, sitting on one and pulling Trava down onto the other. “Ignore my brother. He was a soldier in his youth. Got hit on the head one too many times and rarely talks sense.”

It may be Ciri’s imagination, but she thinks Geralt’s shoulders relax slightly at the word ‘brother’.

“It’s an unusual name,” Ciri comments, trying to ease the tension in the room with small talk. “Did your mother name you after the river?”

Trava grins mischievously. “I guess you could say that.”

“If you don’t behave, I’ll find out a way to bloody drown you in it again,” Jaskier mutters, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from his brother.

“Now, now. I’m not about to tell all my secrets to a couple of strangers. They may have familiar faces, but that’s no reason to trust them.” Trava is still smiling, but his eyes are sharp and focused intently on Ciri and Geralt.

“We had an accident, a, a ... magical accident.” Geralt, as always, is king of the understatement. He is staring at this universe’s version of Jaskier. Ciri can practically see the cogs turning in his mind as he tries to catalogue the differences between the man before him and the one he knows.

He doesn’t elaborate, so Ciri rolls her eyes and picks up the tale. She tries to explain about the monster, how it chased them and how she opened a portal to another universe in an attempt to escape it.

“Portal to another universe?” Jaskier interrupts incredulously. “No! I absolutely forbid it. You aren’t allowed to be able to do that!” He narrows his eyes at her. “When did you learn how to do that?” he demands. “What age? I need to know when my hair is going to go grey.” 

Both Trava and Geralt snort with laughter at the bard’s outburst. 

“Your little princess is going to keep you on your toes!” his older brother announces with glee, and it’s strange seeing them together. The Jaskier she knows has never mentioned a brother and doesn’t seem especially close to his family. Not like this Jaskier is with Trava.

“I’m sorry,” Ciri interrupts. “But when did we first meet in this universe?” 

Jaskier stares at her disbelievingly. “What do you mean? I’ve known you your entire life! I first saw you the day after you were born. You see me every year the day after your birthday. I got you your favourite toy.” He looks at her, unsure and uncertain. “Is that not the same in your world?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t meet you until after I’d met Geralt. When I was thirteen or so.”

An unexpected stab of guilt troubles her as the bard’s face falls. This Jaskier is obviously very close to this world’s version of her. No wonder he fussed over her so much. 

“Do I come with you? When you go to visit,” Geralt asks, attempting to lure a now subdued Jaskier back into the conversation.

“Don’t be silly,” the bard huffs, obviously still hurt by the revelation that she doesn’t have the kind of relationship with her version of him that he expects. “Calanthe would string you up from the battlements by your intestines if you dared set foot in Cintra. Besides, you’re too busy running from Destiny.” He sneers the last part. “Though it seems you’ve got over that.”

Geralt doesn’t rise to the bait. “I had to.”

“And how precisely did that happen?” Jaskier sniffs disdainfully.

Surprisingly, it’s Trava who comes to their defense. 

“Don’t answer that. We don’t want what happened in some other universe to cloud our judgement when making decisions in this one. We’ve already proven there are differences enough that any information you give us could prove useless. Let’s not torture ourselves in years to come with ‘what if’.”

Geralt nods approvingly and although Jaskier crosses his arms mulishly, obviously still put out, he doesn’t contradict his brother. “Alright. So, you created a portal to another universe. But what happened to me? You've obviously lost me.” He looks accusingly at Geralt, though Ciri notices that the bard can’t seem to bring himself to glare the same way at her. His look automatically softens when it lands upon her.

Ciri gulps, remembering Jaskier clutched in the monster’s grasp, the portal closing around him.

“The portal collapsed when he was coming through,” she admitted. “We don’t know which universe he ended up in. We’re trying to track him, but so far we haven’t got the right one.”

“So, you just end up finding alternative versions of my brother,” Trava correctly guessed.

“This is only the second universe we’ve tried, but essentially yes,” Geralt confirms. 

“It still doesn’t make sense!” Ciri snaps out, frustrated. Something about their arrival in this universe has been bothering her. “I was so sure that I had latched onto you when we came through. We should have landed right next to you. But it took you half a day to get to us. You weren’t anywhere near here!”

Jaskier and his brother exchange meaningful looks with one another.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. You did, in a way, land right next to me.”

“What does that mean?” Geralt narrows his eyes.

“Look, what is this river called in your universe?”

“It doesn’t exist in my universe,” Geralt tells him. 

“Oh,” Jaskier looks unsure for a moment before ploughing on. “Well, this river is the Pankratz.”

Geralt furrows his brow. “Like your family name?”

This draws a blank from both brothers.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz,” Geralt elaborates. “Viscount de Lettenhove.”

Jaskier is silently mouthing the words ‘Julian Alfred’ to himself, sadness clouding his face. Trava looks at his brother in concern.

“No,” the naked man places a hand on his brother’s knee. “Not like that. Mama named him Jaskier after the flowers that lined the banks at the spot where he was thrown in the river as a babe.”

“Thrown in?” Ciri gasps horrified. Jaskier gives her a melancholy smile.

“Drowned,” he confirms. “Then brought back as the god of this river. So, as you see, you landed right next to me after all.”

_ What the fuck? _

Ciri and Geralt just stare at him in amazement.

Jaskier just shrugs. “I suppose it makes sense,” he says bitterly. “I like to think of myself as the pivotal part of me. It can be so easy to forget how large I actually am.”

“But never forget,” Trava,  _ god  _ of the river Trava, attempts to lighten the mood. “I am larger.”

Jaskier snorts. “Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.” He looks intently at Ciri and Geralt. “It seems as if you’re in the wrong universe still. What will you do now?”

Ciri closes her eyes and reminds herself that this is only the second universe they’ve tried. The fates were never going to make it easy for them to find their Jaskier. “We try another one, after I’ve had a chance to rest. It takes a lot of energy to create a stable portal that others can traverse through. I don’t think I’ll be able to do it again until the day after tomorrow.”

“Not unless Yennefer manages to get in contact with some new information,” Geralt confirms.

It’s as though he’d dropped a bomb in the middle of the room.

Trava springs up, face red and a mask of pure anger.

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ fucking mention that  _ witch’s  _ name here!” he roars.

Behind him, Jaskier has gone sheet white, clasping his shoulder and gasping for breath. Ciri notes in alarm that he seems to be having a panic attack.

“Jaskier,” Geralt cries, leaping up to try and assist the bard, but Trava blocks his way.

“Is she with you?” he demands, pushing Geralt roughly. Geralt squares up, ready for a fight. “Is she  _ with you? _ ” Trava demands again, spittle flying from snarled lips. “Because I don’t care what universe she may be from, if I ever see  _ any  _ version of that pox ridden witch again then I will do what I should have done when I first learnt her name, and this time there will be no mercy from me.”

Outside she can hear water crashing against the hut’s door. It’s beginning to seep beneath the crack at the bottom.

“Don’t talk about her that way!” Ciri leaps to her own feet, fury on behalf of her surrogate mother coursing through her veins.

“I’ll talk about her however I damn well please. She was a walking dead woman from the moment she tried to kill  _ my  _ brother!”

Both Geralt and Ciri are brought up short, their heads turning to said brother still gasping pitifully in his seat, trembling hands clawing at his shoulder.

“Jaskier?” Ciri doesn’t recognise her own voice. It’s small and unsure.

“I’m fine,” he wheezes, unconvincingly. “I’m… Trava, my shoulder. It hurts. Trava!”

Trava turns from them, crouching down in front of Jaskier and carefully unlacing his shirt, pulling it aside to inspect said shoulder. Ciri can see a gruesome looking scar, tinged grey at the edges. 

“It’s fine, Jaskier,” Trava soothes. “Take a look. See, it’s fine. You’re ok. You got to the river in time.”

Ciri wants to protest and say Yennefer wouldn’t have done that. Not to Jaskier. They’re friends. Snarky, bickering friends, but friends, nonetheless. Geralt shoots her a look that warns her to keep silent. This universe has a different Yennefer, and this Yennefer obviously would do that.

“The djinn,” Geralt guesses, and it seems he guesses correctly because Jaskier stiffens again and nods.

“She tried to steal the power from two powerful elementals that day,” he rasps. “Luckily for me, you got me to the Pontar in time. I was able to begin healing in his waters until I was strong enough to make it back to Mama’s river.”

“Mama?” Ciri wonders aloud.

“The goddess of the Yaruga,” Trava returns to his seat. “Our mother, and possibly a useful ally to yourselves. She’s one of the most powerful beings in this world. She may have some idea of how to help you.”

“We would be grateful for any aid you can offer us,” Geralt accepts.

“Then we need to get to Cintra.” Trava turns to her. “Would you be able to make a small portal, within this universe? Otherwise it would take you several weeks to get to Mama’s. You can’t travel as we can. She lives by the docks.”

She ponders this. A portal within this world should be doable. She nods.

“I hate portals,” she hears Geralt grumble behind her before she opens one and immediately steps through onto a busy street, the others following close behind.

Cintra is just as she remembers it, before Nilfgaard destroyed it. It’s as it was when her grandmother was at the height of her power and there had been no doubt in Ciri’s mind that Cintra would always stand tall. 

Geralt grips her shoulder in sympathy, guessing her thoughts. She blinks back tears and turns around slowly, determined to take it all in, aware she’s unlikely to get this chance again.

She notices that passersby skirt unconsciously around them, not even glancing up. No one seems to have paid the slightest bit of attention to the small group that has just appeared out of nowhere onto one of Cintra’s busiest streets. Especially odd given how one of them is  _ still  _ naked.

Jaskier winks at her, pale face beginning to regain some of its usual colour. “River god trick,” he whispers furtively, before leading them towards a nondescript house and pushing open the door.

“We’ve got company,” he hollers, then turns back to Geralt and Ciri. “This might be a bit hard for you, but remember, Mama is not  _ your  _ god.”

Ciri wonders what on earth he means, until she enters the room Jaskier has just propelled her into and comes face to face with the  _ Yaruga. _

She drops to her knees in an instant and is only vaguely aware of Geralt doing the same next to her.

Before her is a  _ goddess _ .

Ciri wants her to come closer so that she can rest her head against this divine being’s feet and kiss them. She would do  _ anything  _ for just a smile.  _ Anything _ !

Then the light surrounding the elven woman’s golden head seems to dim a little as she draws more of herself inwards, hiding it from their view. Part of Ciri wants to cry, beg for the light back, but another part of her is her own rational voice, and while quiet, it whispers that this glorious goddess is not  _ hers _ . 

“You,” the Yaruga’s voice is soft and melodic. “Are not from this world.”

* * *

Geralt feels like he’s gone ten rounds with a selkiemore, when all he’s actually done is spend ten minutes in the presence of Jaskier’s mother and answered a few quick questions.

It had been a relief when she’d swept out with promises to look into their dilemma. It had felt like his mind had slowly returned to him, trickling back into his brain and leaving him feeling distinctly hungover.

“Up you get,” Jaskier urges, hauling him to his feet and over to a divan, depositing him carefully. “I’ll get you a glass of water. I have to say, well done. I was half afraid Mama was going to turn your brain to mush.”

“Does she often have that effect?” Geralt groans.

“Let’s just say, there is a reason she doesn’t go out in public. I’d say there’d be a riot, but I think mass worship is the more accurate assumption.”

He leaves Geralt and Ciri alone in the room, as he goes to fetch them the promised water.

They’re not alone for long. A plump brunette peeks her head round the door and squeals at the sight of them.

“Oh Ina, Trava was telling the truth. Look at them!” She waltzes over and proceeds to poke Geralt’s cheek, ignoring his growl. Who the hell is this woman? “It’s uncanny, you look almost exactly like him! Jaskier’s head must be spinning!

“We must find the other you! Just imagine, two of you in one room. My poor baby brother’s head might just explode!”

“Let’s avoid any exploding heads if we can possibly help it, Etta” a stern voice chimes in. 

“But Ina!” Etta whines, and Geralt recognises the name ‘Ina’ as a river in his own world, but ‘Etta’ is a mystery to him. “Look at him!” She pokes him again.

“He’s not a sideshow, Etta. Leave him alone.” Geralt decides he likes this Ina woman. “I thought you were heading back home.”

“Heading back?” Etta sounds affronted. “Now? But I’d miss all the fun!” Her voice is making his headache worse.

It’s not improved by Jaskier’s return. He squawks at his sisters, completely forgetting to hand over the water, as he argues with them over their continued presence.

He doesn’t win. Geralt and Ciri spend a noisy evening with Jaskier’s family as they shout across the table at one another, determined to be the ones to tell the best story or joke.

It’s strange seeing Jaskier so at ease with his family. So happy with them. Geralt’s Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind his own family, but he never seeks them out deliberately. Never seems to spend any time in their company just for the pleasure of it. 

They are ushered to bed after dinner, and part of Geralt wants to stay up, seek out this world’s Jaskier and discover more about him, but the bed he is shown is the comfiest he’s had in a long time and it reminds him of just how tired he is. The moment his head hits the pillow, he’s out.

The next day Ciri wakes before him and leaves him a note. She’s gone to look around Cintra and asks politely but forcefully that he leave her to do this alone.

His heart aches for his daughter. It had been strange to him to once again see Cintra’s unblemished streets. How much harder had it been for Ciri to see her destroyed childhood home once again made whole?

The house is quiet, and when he makes his way downstairs there is only Jaskier in the dining room, scraps of paper spread out before him, humming as he scribbles down ideas.

He glances up and blinks at Geralt in surprise. “Oh, hello. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Thank you. That would be greatly appreciated.”

Making an odd noise at the back of his throat, Jaskier walks over to the covered platters placed on a side table and serves up a plate of bacon, eggs, kippers and toast. 

“I have to say,” the bard fiddles with his quill as he sits back down. “You talk a lot more than my Geralt. You’re… softer isn’t the right word, but you know what I mean.”

Geralt has a mouthful of egg, so he has a moment to consider this while he chews.

“I think, mainly, I’m at a different point in my life than your Geralt. Fatherhood changes you.”

There is something wistful in Jaskier’s eyes. “I imagine it does, but in this world you seem determined to avoid it, and… I don’t think I like the idea of you stealing my place.” His mouth twists downwards. “Gods, that sounds awful!”

“No,” Geralt assures. “In this world you’ve been here for Ciri since the beginning. Of course you don’t like the idea that I might suddenly swoop in and suddenly claim a father’s place in her life, just because she’s my Child Surprise. You’re the one who’s put in all the effort here. I would feel it’s unfair too.”

“But you are destined for each other,” Jaskier sighs. “I suppose I have some time to get used to the idea. We can parent together. She’ll need someone to counteract your grumpy influence,” he teases.

“Yen did that,” Geralt says, without thinking.

“I don’t care if  _ your _ Yennefer rescues drowning kittens.  _ This  _ world’s Yennefer will get access to Ciri over my dead body,” Jaskier snarls and the water in Geralt’s cup rises up the side and splashes onto the table.

Geralt doesn’t know what to say. He loved Yennefer, and a part of him always will, but he can’t imagine  _ his  _ Yen hurting Jaskier. This world’s Yennefer very clearly did and left the bard with scars that haven’t fully healed, both inside and out. 

He doesn’t know if he made the same wish in this world. If this universe’s Geralt bound Yennefer to him with his last wish. If he did, then Jaskier can swear over whatever he likes, but Ciri will one day meet and most likely have some kind of relationship with the sorceress.

He decides not to tell this to Jaskier. He doesn’t know all the facts, all the differences between this world and his own. No point upsetting the bard over something that might not ever happen.

“Well, I imagine if you need any feminine influence, you can just ask your sisters to help you with Ciri,” he suggests, trying to defuse the tense atmosphere.

Jaskier relaxes and snatches the last bit of bacon from Geralt’s plate.

“They’ll have the poor girl running for the hills,” he laments, but he’s smiling again.

The day passes quietly. Geralt uses the break to clean and mend his gear. He doesn’t know why, but this house feels safe. He doesn’t think anything bad can happen to him while he’s in it.

Jaskier potters about and his sisters and Trava drop in now and then to satisfy their curiosity. Geralt has to tell them that he's never met a River god in his own world, though he’ll have to look into it when he gets back, and they give him some pointers on how to spot one.

It’s approaching dinner time when Ciri returns, subdued. She stays mostly quiet over their meal and when Trava sadly informs them that their mother has found nothing that can help them, she just nods and tells him that they will leave tomorrow.

She retires to bed shortly after that, and Geralt thinks this is a wise idea. Except unlike the previous night, he can’t sleep. He tosses and turns for what feels like hours before sneaking back downstairs to look for a snack.

Jaskier is still in the living room, watching the dying embers in the fireplace with an absentminded intensity. 

“Composing your next masterpiece?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier looks up in surprise and beckons Geralt to join him.

“No… Just thinking is all.”

Geralt waits. If Jaskier wants to tell him then he will.

“Have we ever got together in your world?” Jaskier finally blurts out, startling the witcher this time.

“I…” he automatically wants to say ‘no’. It would be the truth after all. But that would be omitting some crucial facts. Like the glances he likes to sneak his Jaskier when the bard isn’t looking. The slowly developing attraction that seems to grow each day until Geralt thinks it may just burst out of him.

“Why do you ask?” he settles for.

“It’s just… you’ve been so frustrating recently. Well, not  _ you _ ,” Jaskier waves an impatient hand. “The other you. One moment, he’s leaning forward, speaking softly and looking me in the eyes, and the next it’s as though he realises what he’s doing, and the walls slam up!

“It’s been this way ever since the djinn. When you found out what I was. What I could do.”

“Some water tricks are putting my back up that much?” Geralt is surprised by this.

“Not that. It’s more to do with how people unconsciously react to me. You remember what it was like for you with Mama?”

Geralt does. He remembers thinking that this woman held the secrets of the universe in her elegant hands. That the only way he was worthy of her presence was on his knees, forehead pressed to the floor in supplication.

“Well, we all have a bit of that. It’s nowhere near as strong, and it affects different people to varying degrees, but I have never found my welcome lacking when I enter an inn and people naturally aim to please me.”

Ah… He can imagine that makes him rather suspicious, but ultimately, he’s not this world’s Geralt. He cannot give Jaskier the answers he seeks.

“Give him time,” is the only advice he has to offer. “If we’re at all alike, then you should know we treat romance like a potential unknown monster. Let him work things out in his own head.”

He silently wishes his counterpart better luck than himself.

Jaskier sighs miserably, obviously not the answer he was hoping for, and gets up stretching.

“I should head to bed.” He hesitates at the doorway. “Good luck, Geralt. I hope you find your Jaskier soon.”

The next morning the River gods insist on filling them up with a good breakfast before Ciri is even allowed to consider sending them on their way. Jaskier fusses over her, constantly refilling her plate while his brother sneaks what she cannot eat onto his own.

Ciri bears this with good humour but insists after the third refill that they must be off.

Jaskier pulls her into a hug, presses a kiss to the top of her head and then hesitantly wraps his arms around Geralt.

Geralt is, for a moment, overwhelmed with the sensation of water lapping against him, but it fades quickly, and he gruffly tightens his own arms around the River god, ignoring his daughter’s raised eyebrow.

“Good luck,” Jaskier wishes them both, releasing the witcher and stepping back. “I hope you find me soon.”

Ciri grins at him, opens a portal, and they step through. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my contribution! It's been great fun to write. 
> 
> The title was taken from [Every River by Runrig](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uspq0Iq4tc) (because I have a river theme going)!


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